


Give Me Love

by northerngirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Forbidden Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, Porn With Plot, Secret Relationship, Smut, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 09:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12363189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northerngirl/pseuds/northerngirl
Summary: King’s Landing is still the home of Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane years after the Battle of the Blackwater. Sansa and Tyrion have been married more than two years, Sansa now sixteen, but they still are not more than friends. Sandor is guard to King Joffrey, and protects Sansa however and whenever he can. One night, a drunken Sandor kisses a willing Sansa, and so begins their secret, passionate relationship.





	Give Me Love

**Author's Note:**

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> [Feed The Beast by A R I Z O N A](https://open.spotify.com/track/2driOHZZnMIlaUIt9e3SRD)  
> ♡  
>  [(Full fic playlist here)](https://open.spotify.com/user/kyraal/playlist/2CFv97SCYnDPS2vn2agZFt)

Sansa felt her cheeks grow hot as all eyes fell on her. Joffrey was holding a feast celebrating his and Margaery’s second wedding anniversary. It felt to Sansa like many nights before. She sat near the end of the table beside her husband, who was red for a different reason. He was on his fourth cup of wine, and did not seem to be near stopping. Lanterns lined the perimeter of the gathering and the long tables. Sandor Clegane stood behind Joffrey, the ever watchful guard dog he was, avoiding eye contact with any of the guests. As he took yet another swig from his flask, though, he looked briefly at Sansa. He was not as ugly as everyone said he was, not truly. She had thought the same as the others when they first met, but in the years since she had even begun to think of him as handsome.

“Why hasn’t my uncle put a child in you yet, Sansa?” Joffrey taunted, loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “Is he too busy fucking whores?”

Tyrion glared up at his blond nephew. He was growing more aggravated with the boy king by the day, as they all were.

“She’s a bit boring,” the king continued, standing, “but she’s better than any imp should get.”

“Sit down,” Tyrion warned quietly.

Margaery grasped onto her husband’s arm, a smile on her face. Poor Margaery, married to a monster and its child swelling in her belly. She would give birth soon. “Sit down, husband, enjoy your feast.”

“Why don’t you go take her, uncle?” he persisted, nodding his head. “Now.”

Tyrion poured himself more wine. “That would be most inappropriate. There are children present.” Tommen chuckled next to Cersei. The candlelight made her cheeks look hollow as ever and her scowl cut through the darkness. 

“Please, husband,” Margaery pleaded again and finally Joffrey sat down abruptly, his crown wobbling on his head. The songs began again and maids brought more wine and dessert to each table. Sansa stared at her plate, full of food, no longer hungry. She finally glanced again at the king and queen and noticed the Hound had slipped into the night. Sansa made small talk with other ladies for a few moments more until she could take it no longer.

“Tyrion,” she whispered. “I’d like to go.”

He nodded. “Very well.” He stood and looked at Joffrey. “It’s been a pleasure.” 

They weaved their way through the crowd and walked up the stony path back to the Red Keep. The silence was as heavy as the hot summer air. Usually they could at least exchange pleasantries and had even become friends. But they were not the kind of friendly a husband and wife should be. Surely it was Joffrey’s words that hung between them. No one knew they had not yet shared a bed. After more than two years of marriage, it was unheard of. 

“I’m sorry about Joffrey,” he said finally.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Nor is it yours. Still, a child who is never taught…” Will never learn. Should never have children. But Joffrey had a child in the womb already. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She hoped Margaery could really teach him or her to be good.

She allowed a small smile and reached out to squeeze his hand. “I know.” He returned the smile and squeeze before letting go. They were one hallway away from her bedchambers. “I can make it the rest of the way. Thank you, Tyrion.”

“Sleep well, Lady Stark,” he replied with a small bow and turned around. She knew about Shae, though they had never discussed it. She was happy that they had not been discovered and hoped they never would be. Sometimes she wished she could disappear into thin air, escape at the crack of dawn, and ride north. She sighed as she opened the door to her bedchamber, leaning her head against it as she closed it. 

“Hello, little bird.”

She gasped, whirling around. “Sandor,” she said carefully. He sat on her bed, still in his leathers from the feast. His green cloak spread across her pillows, and his eyes were distant from having too much to drink

“You look surprised,” he slurred, unmoving.

She took a step forward. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

He stood slowly. “I wanted to see you.” 

“Then why did you leave the feast?” she said, her voice smaller than she had imagined it would be. 

He stared at her with sad eyes. He looked almost as small as she felt. “I couldn’t bear listening to Joffrey.”

She sighed, uncrossing her arms. “I couldn’t either.”

The man looked her up and down, feasting on her with his eyes. She felt her blush returning, but this time it wasn’t from shame. It was something else. He took a step closer. “You look beautiful tonight. You’re a woman now.” 

She let out a short sigh, her heart beating at a rapid pace as he took another step toward her. He was now close enough to touch. He reached out and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He smelled of alcohol and sweat and freshly cleaned leather. She took a step closer to him before thinking about it. He looked down, at his feet, her dress, her breasts, her lips, her eyes. Her lips. 

He broke the space between them, pulling her to her tiptoes to press his lips to hers. He was gentler than she thought he could be, drunk as he was. His hands wound around her waist and hers found his neck. She tasted bitter wine on his lips and wanted more. She ran a hand through his long black hair and let herself be held completely by him. 

He carried her across the room to the canopy bed and laid her down, a little roughly, but she didn’t care. Her chest heaved as he hovered above her. He looked at her with drunk desire, and she pushed his hair back to reveal his carefully concealed scar. He pushed her hand away but she shushed him. She traced his lips with her fingers and let them trail to his cheek and finally to his scar. The skin was rough, burned long ago, a living reminder of the horror story he had told her the night of another feast a lifetime ago. She leaned up to plant light kisses on the burned flesh. When she finished, he looked at her again, eyes softer now. He put his hands on either cheek and left her with a deep, too-short kiss before crawling off her bed and leaving her room. 

Still breathing heavily, she laid for a few moments before stripping her gown and brushing her wild locks. She looked ahead in the mirror. What had she done? She could still taste his wine on her lips. But she felt her body wanting more. She slipped under the covers in a dressing gown and tried to calm the beating of her heart, but she only tossed and turned. It’s too warm. She shed her dressing gown, praying only Shae would find her in her smallclothes in the morning. The covers pushed back, she realized it wasn’t the room that was too hot. 

She wondered what she would have done if he had stayed. She was a married woman, but still she had kissed him. Perhaps it was worse that she had wanted him to kiss her. She felt the heat in her core, though he was long gone. She squeezed her thighs together and slowly her hands traveled lower, the heat unfamiliar and impossible to ignore. She touched herself through her smallclothes and felt the heat rise again. She rubbed in a circular motion where she felt most sensitive and let out a moan. _Ladies aren’t meant to do this,_ she thought suddenly, stopping. She laid with her hands under her head and tried again to fall asleep. She still felt that ache between her legs.

Sansa bit her lip and stood, opening a window. Hoping for a cool breeze, she crawled back into bed. She wondered if Sandor would kiss her again. As terrible a thing it was for her to hope, she wished to feel his lips on hers once more. The thought of him somehow knowing he had sent her to such lengths to relieve the tension he brought to her made her flush with shame. She had not bared herself to her husband, yet she imagined another man in her bed. But she could not keep still. She thought what she had done before might help her find sleep, or at least relief. _Was it such a terrible thing for ladies to do?_

Her hands wandered again, this time a little more sure and daring. She felt her wetness through her smallclothes. Finding the same spot as before, her stomach flamed in pleasure. She slipped her hand under her smallclothes and rubbed small circles where she felt most tender. She ventured further and let one finger slide inside her, wet enough that she soon was bold enough to let another finger follow. She shut her eyes and remembered the feeling of Sandor’s calloused but gentle hands on her cheeks. Two fingers inside and the other hand still massaging her clit, she imagined her slender fingers were the Hound’s and let out a low moan. 

She thought of his beard scratching her face when he had kissed her. She had always thought kissing a man with facial hair would be uncomfortable, like when Littlefinger had kissed her once before he left for the Vale, but with Sandor she didn’t mind. She once heard a maid say a man had kissed her between her thighs. Sansa wondered how it would feel to be kissed between hers. She pumped her two fingers inside of her, trying to keep a steady pace. Her eyes closed, she pictured Sandor stripped of his armor, kissing her between her legs where she was slick, his beard scratching her thighs. She imagined it would feel as good as she did now. She thought she should feel ashamed but was too close to bliss to care. The heat rose in her again, more powerful than before, and she cried out as she came. 

She laid still on her back for a few moments, taking in deep breaths as her heart beat to a song it never had before. She did not know how she was supposed to feel, but she felt calm for the first time that night. Calmer than she had been before, perhaps ever. She took off her soaked smallclothes and crawled under the sheets naked. Sansa soon fell asleep with the taste of wine on her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is folks! The first chapter of my very first multi-chapter fic. If you couldn't tell, it's gonna be pretty smutty, I hope you don't mind hehe. I'm super excited about this, please give me some (constructive) feedback and I hope you stick around for more!
> 
> I will be posting on tumblr ([@thehound](http://thehound.tumblr.com)) when a new update is coming with the tag #givemelovefic if you wanna stay tuned!


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